Cemetery
by Cross D'Aubigne
Summary: Weird. This is just a short one shot that I wrote during science today. It takes place when Bruce was seven, when I decided that his parents died. I asked around, but no one could tell me their names until after I had posted it. Please forgive me.


Yeah, yeah, I know. This is unmistakably, NOT LSD or CS, but what the hell. I like Batman. The song "Cemetery" from Danny Elfman and Tim Burton's version of Batman gave me the idea for this story.

-Cross

Cemetery

The day was grey and cool. The wind made a low howling sound, disturbing the quiet that was otherwise present. The grass was dying, a yellow green color, and it added to the foreboding feel of the air.

Alfred led the small boy by his hand. Bruce was wearing a black dress-shirt neatly tucked into his charcoal grey pants. A black overcoat was buttoned down the front, neatly pressed, with the matching hat in place atop of his head. His low heeled, buckle shoes clacked on the gravel path on which they were traveling.

"It is just up the hill, young Master," Alfred said and gave the boy's hand a small squeeze before pointing. "I'll leave you to your thoughts. Please return to the car when you are done. I will be waiting for you there."

"I implore you Alfred, please don't leave me," Bruce asked quietly, his voice beseeching.

The butler turned. The young boy's voice was pleading, but his face was virtually blank, emotionless. It was an unfortunate quirk in his personality that had recently developed. Given the current events in his life, it was to be expected.

"I'll stay with you, Master Bruce," Alfred said and gave the seven year old boy a forlorn smile. 'Young Bruce,' he thought, 'you looked so piteous before, and now you truly are.'

"Is it just ahead, Alfred?" the child asked sadly. His face was lowered, so hair covered his eyes so that all the aging man could see was dull jade glints underneath the shining strands.

"Yes, Sir," he replied.

The boy gave him the barest of smiles. "I do not mean for you to have the burden of listening to my suffering, only that you would be near should I need you."

"I understand," Alfred responded. "I will stay out of ear shot. Take your time."

The two trekked up the hill, neither one saying a word. The only sound came from Bruce's shoes as the stone grinded underneath his weight.

Finally, they came to the peak of the hill. Atop of the rise there sat a tree, leafless and dying.

'It fit's the occasion,' thought Bruce. 'The only living among the dead are the humans who go there to grieve.'

Near to the tree were two headstones. In bold lettering on the front side of the stones the names Clara and Bruce Wayne were engraved and small angels were imprinted along the sides of the white marble. The year of their births and deaths and a short quote decorated the gravestones as well, and many flowers were strewn about on the ground, once neatly placed atop the grass, now scattered by the wind all over the field of buried corpses.

"Mother, Father," Bruce said in unreciprocated greeting. He said no more words. He had nothing left to say. Instead, he turned his gaze upwards to the sky as the grey clouds began to scatter snow onto the dismal earth.

Small powder like flakes landed on his shoulders and hair but he paid no mind. He began thinking about how he had lost his parents less than a fortnight ago. He had not seen the face of the man who had claimed their lives, but he would know them straight away should they ever come face to face.

A rhythmic pounding began to arise in his mind and he looked off to his left. A man was suddenly there, swaying in dance to the three quarter time of a waltz that only the two of them could hear. Bruce found himself dancing to the tune as well, pirouetting under the snow, spinning slowly in circles to the beat.

The man was familiar to him, but at the same time, they had never met. Over half of the peculiar man's face was a mask, one that had a painted smile upon it, cheerful and consoling. His true face was quite the opposite, sinister, and dark. His jacket was on one side striped, and on the other spotted. He was like two sides of a coin, each side different, yet both were part of a whole.

Bruce blinked and he was alone, save for Alfred who was watching the trees just a short distance away.

'Had he seen the man?' Bruce wondered, his bright, green eyes widened with curiosity. 'The two faced gentleman?'

Alfred turned and smiled softly beneath his white mustache. "Have you finished paying your respects to them, Master Bruce?"

"Alfred, have you seen the man?" he asked eagerly and trotted up to his butler. "The one with two faces and the atypical suit?"

"Two faces?" he asked. He patted Bruce on the top of his head and chuckled softly. "There was no man here, Sir, only you and myself. Perhaps the cold weather has granted you a fever?"

Bruce blinked disbelievingly and took Alfred's offered hand. Had he imagined it? They walked back down the hill, but before the graves were out of sight, the child looked back.

"Are you waiting for me, Two Face?" he asked quietly. As he gazed back at the tree, he saw the man again,. Standing motionless by the graves, watching him leave. "Will you seek me out at another time?"

They had reached the car without him realizing it and with a final glance at the graveyard, Bruce stepped into the car. Alfred closed the door behind him, climbed into the driver's seat and they set for home.

Would he be waiting? Indeed....

Yeah, I realize that sucked, but I liked it. ;; And if you hate it, well I don't write for you. I write for me. Booyaaa!!

I kind of made lil' Brucey sound psychotic, but that was how I imagined it, young Bruce and Two Face dancing in the snow (of course it was in his mind. In fact he hadn't moved at all). :P I'm strange, ne?


End file.
